A Song of Ice and Fire Swords
by Darthkvzn
Summary: The blood of Darth Vader has been defeated, as has the faction he serves. Kylo Ren must complete his training, and the Supreme Leader knows just where to send him. The First Order looms over Westeros, and the Game of Thrones they know and love is about to change. Kinda cracky but not really?, SPOILERS FOR THE FORCE AWAKENS!
1. Chapter 1: A Dark Task

**I don't really know what to tell you. I normally figure out a story for months before even putting it into writing. I went to vacation with the Game of Thrones book and watched The Force Awakens, and this is the weird baby that resulted from that. I hope it's good? I certainly do hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Kylo Ren was not a happy man.

A suitable state of mind, he supposed, for one seeking to lose himself in the shadowed pathways of the Dark Side of the Force, one who sought to follow in a Sith's footsteps.

Still, conflict raged within the confines of his mind. He had thought the bothersome spark of Light within him vanquished when he had proven himself strong enough in the Darkness as to destroy such an important piece of the past as was the man who had sired him, but it remained - worse still, it shone even brighter, a luminous beacon of hope amongst the roiling currents of rage and hatred that fuelled his power, his ascent to the glorious level that only a Dark Lord like his grandfather could have achieved.

Distasteful. The only hope he wished to care for was that his Master would see him as fit to continue his training.

He strode heavily, fully suited, towards the Supreme Leader now - or at least, to the holographic projection Snoke chose to deal with every member of the First Order worth his attention. Not even Kylo Ren could claim to have met him in person since the first phase of his training had ended, more than seven years past.

His gait was slower than usual. He still bore the scars given to him by the scavenger, the girl who had dared to test his abilities and won. She'd certainly caught his interest, with such raw potential; he'd even admitted as much to her, willing to show her the path to the Dark Side. Her power had caught him unaware, and the fresh scars he bore, complete with a prosthetic knee and stiff waist were both a mark of shame, and an interesting prospect for the next time they would surely meet.

He arrived at the darkened room, only to find Hux's smug visage staring back at him in contempt.

"Late again, Lord Ren?" -he sneered.

"Recovering from crushing defeat. I'm sure you can relate." -Kylo answered dryly.

Hux stiffened visibly. "A minor setback, nothing more. The Republic is ruined once more, and the First Order still has fleets, men and…"

Kylo Ren resisted the urge to snort. "My Master's words sound empty coming from you. We failed, and the artificial star we currently orbit is more than enough proof."

The larger than life image of the Supreme Leader of the First Order filled the room.

"Well spoken, my apprentice. Insignificant though it may be, your failure has been noted, General. Perhaps your next assignment under Kylo Ren will prove your worth." -Snoke said.

The already pale General blanched, but nodded feverishly. "I serve at your leisure, Supreme Leader."

The Leader chuckled derisively. "At Lord Ren's leisure, now. Leave us, and await further instructions."

Hux's lips thinned to a line, but he bowed and walked away swiftly. Ren's eyes narrowed haughtily behind his mask, but then he kneeled before his Master. "I am ready, my Lord. I have cast off the last of my shackles, and I am eager to follow the Dark path. Teach me."

"HAH! The last of your shackles, indeed. The smuggler's death pleased me, but make no mistake: it is but one drop of blood out of the necessary bleed-out. The Light taints you Kylo Ren. Distance is no object for a being such as myself, and I can assure you: I can feel that Ben Solo yet lives, and he shall survive so long as the Resistance General and the old Jedi survive." -Snoke sneered leaning forward.

Kylo grit his teeth, ashamed. "Then I shall slay them, as well."

Snoke leaned back on his throne. "Is that so? Like you slayed the scavenger, and the traitor?"

"Meaningless pawns in the game. The true enemy is Skywalker, not that scum from Jakku." -he assured, loathingly.

"If you truly believe that, then you are as hopeless as I feared. The girl holds the past in her hands, and she will bring it back if left unchecked."

Ren frowned. "Lord Vader's lightsaber?"

"And all it represents. A great weapon capable of great evil or good. No sword in history has ever held such significance as your grandfather's blade. What you ruined for that fool, Skywalker, she could restore. But enough of that...at the very least, you have planted the seeds of the Dark Side in the girl, and for that, you shall be rewarded. Rise, Kylo Ren."

The darksider did as his Master bid. "I will finish my training?"

Snoke nodded gravely. "The Darkness festers within you. Before I can teach you the remainder of my knowledge, it must be exposed. The late Lord Vader's first real step in embracing the Dark Side was the murder of the inhabitants of the Jedi Temple. Men, women and children alike fell to his blade, and the fire of his soldiers."

Kylo nodded. "I slaughtered Ben Solo's brothers and sisters in arms because of it."

"A fair fight, given your fellow Knights aided you. Yet power is not fair. It is wielded by the strongest, and destroys the weak. In a distant corner of the galaxy lies a primitive world, one that has not yet discovered electricity, yet wields great power, which they believe to be magical in nature." -Snoke mused.

Ren scoffed. He thought it pathetic, that worlds still existed that did not match the standards of the galaxy in terms of civilization and technology.

Snoke grinned crookedly. "You think them lesser, and rightly so. Yet you would do well in respecting power, no matter who wields it."

The Leader closed his eyes, and relayed his sacred orders. "You will conquer their lands and enthrall their people, all in the name of the First Order. You shall have no more than a legion at your disposal, and the Destroyer you command will turn into your fort. There will be no way to contact anyone off world, and, should you fail, no one to save you. You will succeed within a year, or not succeed at all."

Kylo Ren closed his eyes, embracing his new mission. "What of the Jedi?"

"Oh, I imagine they'll be here...if you return. Go now, Kylo Ren. Do not hesitate, have no mercy." -Snoke ordered, and disappeared.

One year. Little time in the grand scheme of things, yet a harder task than he might've originally thought. But he would succeed, just as Darth Vader had before, and before long, the First Order would rule as the Empire had.

And the first to suffer his wrath would be the scavenger of Jakku.


	2. Chapter 2: Sinister Preparations

The world below him had no name, and could be found on no star charts. How the Supreme Leader knew of it, he had no clue. It was a bright ball of blues and whites, with only a bit of green and brown betraying the only two habitable continents the sensors had been able to identify. An enormous frigid anomaly took place on the north of the westmost landmass, one that the ensigns aboard the _Resurgent_ -class Star Destroyer _Finalizer_ had been baffled by, while on the eastern continent he could feel a _pull_ , an interesting sensation not unlike the Dark Side's influence.

Kylo Ren was brought out of his musings by General Hux and Captain Phasma, walking up to him. "The primitives have obviously not noticed our presence. We await only your commands." -said Hux stiffly.

"What do we know of them?" -asked Kylo.

"They number less than fifty-five million in total, and are distributed mostly on the southern end of the western continent. The eastern continent is more sparsely populated." -the General dutifully informed.

Ren nodded, then turned to Phasma. "What of the status of our troops?"

"A full legion of Stormtroopers awaits your command, Lord Ren. Eight thousand foot soldiers and their transports, plus two fighter wings. Five vehicle squads and a full complement of 500 engineers. Plus, two of your fellow Knights of Ren, and your personal shuttle." -she reported.

Kylo hummed. "Eight thousand Stormtroopers to subjugate five million people...assuming some ten percent of their population are combat capable, we are still heavily outnumbered."

Hux scoffed. "Armed with projectile weaponry at the worst? Slugthrowers have not been effective in combat since the early days of the Old Republic, and I highly doubt these primitives have created them yet."

Captain Phasma spoke up. "With all due respect, sir, it's not their technology, but their _numbers_ that matter. A Krayt Dragon may easily slay a hundred Banthas, but a million will bury it under sheer weight."

Hux saw the logic in the argument, but pride muted him. Kylo Ren smirked. "Captain Phasma is correct, and given my Master's orders prohibiting a simple orbital bombardment, I suggest we work on our strategy."

The holographic display reflected a map of the two continents. "We have been given a timeframe of one year to accomplish our task. I believe conquering both continents simultaneously is possible. Captain Phasma, you and one of the Knights shall take half our forces and conquer the eastern continent. You will _not_ slay more natives than absolutely necessary. If diplomacy is required until such a time we do not need their compliance, then so be it."

Phasma saluted smartly. "It shall be done, Lord Ren."

"I'm sure it will, Captain. Plexus Ren will be under your command until further notice."

The durasteel plated soldier walked off, cape billowing in her wake. "Placing one of your own under the Captain may be unwise, Lord Ren. Loathe as I am to admit it, a Knight of Ren is seldom an asset to be controlled." -said Hux.

Kylo Ren turned to the redhead. "I expect the Captain knows this. She will not control Plexus Ren. She will unleash him."

Hux visibly paled, but swallowed and nodded. "What of our forces?"

"As soon as Phasma's troops leave this vessel, we will land." -he said simply.

The General frowned. "This warship is _not_ designed for atmospheric flight, let alone landing procedures, _my Lord._ "

Ren shrugged mentally. "Can it be done?" -he asked an ensign who'd been eavesdropping.

The young man blanched, but nodded. "It is not very likely the Star Destroyer will be able to take off again, but it should be able to land safely."

"Good." -the dark lord said. He turned to Hux once more. "Have a TIE squad make a high altitude flight. Find a suitable landing location, and ready a division of Stormtroopers for landing operations."


	3. Chapter 3: The Horselords' Lament

**Clarification: I forgot to change the population of Westeros/Essos from the placeholder five million. It is now approximately 55 million. Thank you, reviewers, for pointing that out! Now, let's turn our attention to Essos, as Phasma makes planetfall and the world of Game of Thrones gets its first taste of First Order firepower and discipline.**

* * *

Prefabricated bases were probably her favorite feature of the larger Star Destroyers the First Order fielded. They made reinforcing and establishing garrisons quite easy, and, in their current situation, every advantage was to be taken.

Captain Phasma had been given command of 4000 soldiers, 25 land vehicles, and 200 aircraft, though only half of those were combat capable.

She had immediately put them to use.

The continent she had landed in had an enormous expanse of valley-like land. Grass covered the surface for miles on end. She'd seen a scan of the area, but seeing it for herself, even if it was only through her helmet's HUD, was enthralling. It made her miss the red grass seas of Shili, the Togruta homeworld, where she'd been sent to in one of her earliest missions. The parallels were apparent - she had been sent to conquer then, and that's what she would do now.

And that's where the prefab base came in. She had chosen to land a force of Stormtroopers 500 strong about two miles from a major settlement, under the cover of night. The…'city', for want of a better term, was naught but tents, broken sculptures that spoke of other, very different cultures, and about 50,000 inhabitants, all very likely willing to defend themselves.

 _All too easy_ , she thought.

She could've tried reasoning, as Kylo Ren had suggested, but the _savages_ that inhabited the place wore little clothing, and mated under the night sky like the beasts of burden that could be seen everywhere. She was reasonably sure the only way she was entering the city was by force.

An artillery emplacement was set up, and Phasma gave the order to fire. Green bolts shot into the sky, only to go back down at the center of the city. Soon enough, the natives were either incinerated on the spot, or tossed into a frenzy, like she'd rustled up an insect hive.

On her HUD, she could see the magnified image of thousands of women and children running out of the city limits, while the men mounted the quadruped beasts and flooded in single file to meet the enemy they could barely see. They waved whips and curved swords made of metal and _bows_ of all things, shouting as if insane. Charging elite Stormtroopers with such weapons _was_ madness, but she at least gave them credit for their ignorance and bravery.

She ordered the artillery to move away, and the snipers to fire at will. The green blasts found their targets easily, frightening men and beasts alike with terrifying displays of burned corpses and vaporized heads. Those that made it through the shooting gallery found themselves drowned in a scarlet sea of blaster fire from the Stormtroopers, shooting from behind their comrades in melee gear. She had thought it a necessary precaution, but it was not, in the end. Not a single rider made it to the tightly packed formation, the smoking corpses of their comrades making for more than treacherous terrain.

Yes, she _was_ reminded of Shili.

Captain Phasma ordered her men and women into the city, with orders not to kill those that remained. The blue halos of stun rounds illuminated the city for the rest of the night, and the massacre was ended.

Only a few of her newfound prisoners spoke Basic (or at least an antiquated variant of it), but they were enough. The following morning, she sent Kylo Ren the report on her landing on the continent of Essos, and her subsequent capture of the ancient home city of the Dothraki people, Vaes Dothrak.

As the prefab base landed in a cleared area in the city next to a mountain, she thought to herself that there never was a better sight.

The First Order had come to this world, and it soon would fall.

* * *

 **Vaes Dothrak fell as easily as it did for two reasons: one, I imagine the First Order as having similar tech to Imperial levels, though upgraded. Two, the city of the Horselords is stated to be sparsely populated while the Khalasars are out of it. Phasma just happened to get lucky, or she might've gotten overwhelmed by sheer numbers of Dothraki screamers and riders. As for the language, well. I can't afford to have them spend half the year they have to conquer Westeros learning the language, so the tongue of the Seven Kingdoms is an ancient dialect of Galactic Standard Basic.**

 **Tell me your thoughts!**


	4. Chapter 4: A Foothold In The Night

They came in the night, just as the demons they looked like.

Lyssa Snow was, of course, a bastard. Fair skinned and brown of hair as was usual in the frigid North. Her father had been a hunter, and her mother, the daughter of some minor Lord, bannerman to Eddard Stark, the late Lord of Winterfell and former Warden of the North. Her mother had never cared for her, leaving it up to her father to see to her survival. They'd never had much, but her father loved her plenty, and that had been enough.

That is, until the so called King in the North had called his father's banners, and marched South to take on the Boy King of Westeros. Lyssa's father had gone with the army. She did not expect him to come back.

With a Long Winter soon arriving, and so precious little work available, Lyssa had been forced to fend for herself. She'd tried working the Winterfell kitchens, but she was still young and far too clumsy, so she kept looking, ending up at the farthest northern settlement.

The only job available in Mole's Town was in the pleasure business. With no experience in such matters, the 17 year-old was more than hesitant to accept, but the matron had urged her to do so, claiming her looks would earn her a fair amount.

Three months had passed since then, and she only had about two dozen coppers and a head full of bitterness to her name.

She and her newly found sisters always had customers; either the men of the town, or the crows from the Wall would look to them to warm their beds for the night. The Black Brothers she especially hated - 'former' murderers, rapists, and thieves, for the most part. She'd been lucky that none had harmed her so far, but she'd discovered the unspoken truths when she saw bruised faces and bloodied linens the morning after.

She was to entertain one that night, some red faced southron who boasted all about his rangings and wildling kills when he really couldn't be more than a steward changing chamber pots by his looks and smell.

That's when the fire started. Flashes of red went by the small window in the room, reminiscent of flame. The man was halfway through disrobing her, but stopped, frowning fearfully. Screams soon followed, both within the whorehouse and outside, and the crow jumped away from her, awkwardly donning his discarded breeches.

He never got a chance to finish. The door was kicked in with more force than she'd ever seen, splintering in mid-air. A huge figure, shaped like a man, white and black and polished to a sheen cleaner than any silverware she'd ever seen burst in, holding an object of similar coloring in his hands. Lyssa only had a split second to compare it to a crossbow before it spit blue fire, hitting the man of the Night's Watch.

He crumpled to the ground bonelessly, surely dead. The strange figure turned to her, pointing the weapon in her direction.

"Please! Don't kill me!" -she pleaded, covering herself with an old fur. The expresionless monster in human form did not heed her wishes, however, and fired without remorse, the strange blue halo hitting her. She barely had time to appreciate the numbness of death and regret the last three months of her life, before darkness took her.

* * *

His shuttle landed on the outskirts of the settlement, the battle mostly over. At Phasma's suggestion, he'd sent Stormtroopers with both regular and riot gear, now aware of the level of technology (or lack thereof) he was about to confront. So far, neither he nor the Captain back on Essos had lost a single soldier, but he would not fall into comfort. The Supreme Leader was wise to warn him not to underestimate the natives.

He walked slowly, watching the carnage unfold. He'd ordered the Stormtroopers to use stun bolts whenever possible, but gave them freedom to slaughter those that fought back in a particularly ferocious manner. They would likely not have bowed before him, and so they were an obstacle, and nothing more. One easily surmountable.

A Sergeant walked up to him. "Lord Ren, we have control of the town. Only a few stragglers remain."

A spike of danger behind them brought his hand up, calling on the Force to apply stasis to whoever was trying to attack them. A wooden projectile hovered in the air, warped and tipped with metal. _An arrow_ , he surmised. Never before had he seen one in person, but he could appreciate the simplistically lethal design.

"I believe I've found one." -he noted dryly.

The perpetrator was a young man, dressed entirely in black leather and furs, and holding the wooden weapon, frozen in place with eyes widened in fear yet still defiant as was expected of a man of his age. The Sergeant barked at two Stormtroopers, who promptly walked over to the man, beat him, and brought him before the darksider.

Kylo Ren knelt in front of the beaten man. "I commend your bravery, if not your wisdom."

The young man panted, wincing either at his warped voice or the blows he'd received, then looked at Kylo. He had wild black hair, a fairly short beard and piercing gray eyes. His lower lip was split and bleeding, but he still managed to frown in contempt at the expressionless mask.

"What is your name, Westerosi?" -Kylo asked.

"Jon Snow." -he said, his voice surprisingly mature.

Ren hummed. "You tried to kill me, Jon Snow. Why?"

"You looked like the leader." -he said simply.

"I am. Yet the battle was already won, clearly in my side's favor. Had you killed me, you would've had to see to my men next, and good though your aim may be, I doubt you'd survive to see the effects of your weapon on my men's armor."

Snow narrowed his eyes in loathing. "This was no more a battle than the slaughter of a calf. My death would've been worth it, in any case."

Kylo Ren cocked his hooded head. "How so?"

"An army without its leader may as well throw down their weapons and bend the knee."

The darksider smirked behind his mask. "Good. You understand."

Ren turned to the Sergeant. "I'll keep this one. Pull the division, and evacuate the prisoners."


	5. Intermission: Planetfall

He really ought to reconsider his newly found friendships.

Samwell Tarly was suffering through the frigid winds at the top of the Wall instead of warming by the hearth inside Castle Black, all because Jon Snow had been sent by Lord Commander Mormont to track down one of the Castle's stewards, who'd run off to Mole's Town for the night. Sam wasn't sure what the gods, old or new, might have in store for the man, since he _technically_ wasn't breaking his vows, but it made him afraid. Like most everything in the world, if he was honest with himself.

Perhaps he ought to appreciate he had any friends to begin with, instead.

By his calculations, he'd been up there for the better part of two hours, and still hadn't seen anything resembling a rider in the night. There'd been some weird, flickering lights coming from Mole's Town's direction, but those most likely had been a product of his bored imagination.

The high pitched screech he could now hear, however, was not. It was coming from beyond the Wall, like a creature from the stories, and it made him feel as if it was a herald of Death itself that was coming towards them. The sound intensified for a couple of seconds, and then he saw it. It wasn't down below the Wall, as he'd originally thought, but rather above them, _flying_ , like the Targaryen dragons of old. A ball, it looked like, with two panels of some type of metal at its sides. It raced through the skies as if it owned them, and what a sight it was.

And if it wasn't enough to impress, then the mountain was.

Above the strange floating ball, a veritable wall of metal was hovering, as if the land had flipped, slowly closing the distance between the heavenly vault and the ground. It was hard to tell from its sheer size, which made the Wall seem tiny by comparison, but Sam thought it had a triangular shape. Red and white lights shined all around it, constant in their illumination, and not flickering like fire would. Sam was enthralled, even as his terror increased.

The base of the flying mountain finally passed above him, and he saw that it was moved by what he could only describe as three suns, blue like the glowing sapphires found in the Tarth holdings. The enormous _thing_ flew ever closer to the ground, and, after a time, landed with a tremendous _boom_ and a mighty plume of dirt and smoke.

Right on top of what Mole's Town used to be.

Sam paled, thinking of Jon first, and the town's inhabitants after. The bells of Castle Black started to sound, and Sam went to the wooden elevator to join his shocked brothers.

What he didn't stay to see, however, was that a dark shape of black and glowing red and three others in gray were headed right towards them.

* * *

 **Yes, those are shuttles. Castle Black's about to have some unexpected visitors.**


	6. Chapter 5: The Robed Foreigner

Jon Snow was not afraid to admit that he felt fear.

He was surrounded by metal, black in color. Metal men in white and black flanked him at either side. His hands were bound by metallic restraints. The robed figure with the metal mask and the magic especially terrified him. He spoke like a demon, and could stop an arrow in mid-air by simply thrusting out his hand. If he was being honest, he didn't expect to survive much longer, not in the midst of these metal men who so easily slaughtered all in Mole's Town.

He was horribly afraid. Thankfully, he was at least _partly_ a Stark, which meant he was _terrible_ at expressing his emotions. Fear, of course, included.

The enclosed space he was in felt odd, and not just because he was surrounded by so much metal that he couldn't even picture just how many swords and armors could be made out of it. It felt as if it was _moving_. He'd felt some vertigo at first, too, similar to standing at the edge of the Wall.

" _ **Your mind is an open book, Jon Snow.**_ " -the dreaded voice said.

He turned, still sore. The robed, hooded man with the black and silver helm stood behind him, his hood still up.

"I wouldn't know. You're the first one to say so." -said Jon, swallowing his fear.

The dark figure hummed. " _ **I would imagine so. This world's connection to the Force is tenuous at best. Yet, people like us are...unburdened, by these limitations.**_ "

Jon frowned. What in Seven Hells was the Force? And what did he mean by ' _people like us'_?

The man stepped closer, towering over him. " _ **All in due time, Jon. We are to greet your friends now.**_ "

His stomach fell. The Black Brothers had talented fighters among their number, but against the might of the man's troops, they stood no chance in a fight.

" _ **Oh, don't worry. I'm not looking to kill them. Yet**_." -the man said, condescendingly.

Jon felt a spike of anger. "You're just another murderer."

The mask inched closer to his face. There were no discernible features there, and for the first time, Jon frightfully wondered what he'd find underneath it.

" **I** _**am Kylo Ren**_."

* * *

Castle Black was in a frenzy. Rangers formed up to defend the gates, stewards passed weapons around, and the builders prepared the castle's defenses. Lord Commander Mormont knew it wouldn't be enough. His sight was not what it once was, but even he could see the sea of white and black armor marching to meet them, and, while he knew not their intentions, such numbers, in his experience, meant only one thing.

The soldiers stopped, about two hundred feet from the gates. They stood with their strange weapons pointed at the ground, but he could feel their tense attitude.

"Who goes there?" -shouted the gatekeeper.

The armored men stood perfectly still, and did not answer. The gatekeeper repeated the question, his voice slightly more desperate.

Mormont ordered one of his archers to fire a flaming arrow in front of them in warning. It landed in a patch of dirt, a few feet from the front line. The troops did not flinch.

The arrow did.

It flew, feathers first, towards a man in a black hood and robes, walking from the back of the formation, as if the earth had decided to shoot back. The robed figure held the burning arrow for a few seconds, until it went out of its own accord.

"Who are you?" -Jeor asked.

" _ **Is fire and blood all the hospitality this realm can offer?**_ " -the figure asked, his loud voice carrying a demonic, otherworldly undertone.

Mormont's men flinched, but he remained steadfast. "Answer the question, and we'll see if that holds true."

" _ **You may call me Kylo Ren.**_ "

The name sounded strange, foreign. He supposed it was appropriate, given no kingdom in Westeros fielded such strange forces.

"I am the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. What is your purpose at the Wall, _Kylo Ren_?"

The figure walked forward. " _ **Curiosity. What is the purpose of it?**_ "

Mormont frowned. "The Wall? You truly do not know?"

" _ **The boy refuses to share his knowledge, and I fear I had little time to learn your culture**_."

"What boy? I ask that you cease to speak in riddles, good man." -he asked, increasingly annoyed. Was the man from Essos? Perhaps even the Shadowlands, considering the strange attire and armor?

Kylo Ren turned, and a pair of his soldiers brought a young man with them. He was beaten and bloodied, but he recognized the blood of Ned Stark instantly. "You dare capture one of our own!? Have you no respect for the King's Law?"

" _ **From what I understand, none in the realm do. Why should I?**_ " -he asked simply.

The man had a point, but Mormont wasn't about to admit it. "I demand that you release our young Steward, immediately."

There was a pause in which Kylo Ren hummed. " _ **No.**_ " -he said, shaking his head.

" _What_?"

" _ **I've enough forces to burn this Wall to the ground. I could destroy you to the last, unaided. My forces have conquered the heartland of the Dothraki. If I wished it, I would march up to your King, and murder him. You fail to realize, you are not in a position to demand**_ **anything** _ **.**_ " -said Kylo Ren, without a hint of sarcasm. The Lord Commander didn't know if the man's boasts held any truth; he did, however, believe that Kylo Ren truly believed he could, _and would_ accomplish these outlandish feats.

"You would choose to sow chaos and death on the whole of Westeros over returning this lowly steward?" -he replied, hoping to convince Ren that it wasn't worth it.

" _ **All in good time. The boy's freedom is more important than you will ever realize. Still, I feel merciful. I have a proposal for you.**_ "

Mormont stiffened. The man's intentions were more than clear. He couldn't help but feel as if his actions were deciding the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. "What would that be?"

" _ **I have come here to test myself, Westerosi, both in mind, and body. I require a duel. Choose your greatest warrior, and pit him against me. Should I die, my army will leave, and the boy will be freed. But, should your champion fail, I will keep Jon Snow...as well as this castle, to arm and armor as I see fit.**_ "

A chorus of gasps were heard from some of his less disciplined men. Castle Black had been in the hands of the Night's Watch since the Wall itself had been erected. To even think that another force could control it was almost a travesty.

And yet...Winter was coming. The late Lord Stark had seen it, experienced its bite first-hand. The wildlings were running from it, risking death south of the Wall, rather than take their chances with whatever evil was raising their dead. Mormont wouldn't say it was White Walkers. Not yet. But he couldn't deny what his own eyes had seen. And the men of the Night's Watch were dreadfully unprepared for it.

"You told me I was not in a position to bargain, yet I cannot abide by this proposal, even for the life of the boy, if your victory will mean the death of our order, and the destruction of the Wall. I will accept, if you swear Castle Black, the Wall, and the Night's Watch will remain standing after your duel." -said Mormont, finally.

Kylo Ren strode closer to the gates. " _ **You are a foolish, old man. But I accept. You have my word that the Wall you so cherish will survive, under control of the First Order**_."

The First Order. Finally, a name to the faction. Mormont couldn't shake the feeling that Westeros would be forever changed by it, and its unnerving leader.

Kylo Ren thrust his hand out towards the Castle. The gates slowly opened, and he strode in. The guards were terrified; even the most hardened among them flinched away when he passed them by. Mormont walked down the stairway to meet him. Now, the Lord Commander was not a small man; he wasn't called Old Bear for nothing. Kylo Ren still had a good head on him, however, and coupled with the expressionless helm he wore, it made even the grizzled old man feel fear.

"Choose your champion." -he said simply.

* * *

 **This chapter was supposed to be the Dothraki's retaliation. Still working on it, since it's so large. It's a MASSIVE battle, and I'm working out the logistics of it still. Bear with me, I have a ton of work left!**


	7. Chapter 6: And So His Watch Is Ended

It was on that night that Jon Snow realized he truly knew nothing. Of the world he lived in, of the people he chose to protect, even of himself. Only a few months after his late father had been visited by the equally late King Robert, and chosen as Hand of the King, the world seemed to have been turned on its head.

Literally, in some cases. The mountain that had crushed Mole's Town being the perfect example.

Kylo Ren knelt. His captor was currently awaiting the Night's Watch champion, a man that, while the closest thing Jon had to a mortal enemy, he could easily admit was one of the best swordsmen sworn to the Night's Watch. Ser Alliser Thorne was certainly no pushover in battle, and Jon was confident he would represent the brotherhood well.

He was not, however, confident that he would win.

Ser Alliser finished getting ready, donning chainmail under the boiled black leather attire of the order. He brandished his freshly sharpened sword, getting into a tight stance and baring his teeth at the masked man, who did not at all outwardly respond.

"Your opponent has been chosen, Ser. Rise, and accept the challenge." -said the Lord Commander.

Only then did Kylo Ren lift his head. " _ **I seem to have misplaced my blade.**_ "

A few bold crows cackled at his admission. Mormont frowned, sensing something was amiss. "Shall we provide you with one, Kylo Ren?"

" _ **If it won't trouble you.**_ "

More jeering could be heard, now. The master-at-arms chose the rustiest, dullest blade he could find, and chucked it at the robed figure, just beyond his kneeling reach. Kylo Ren simply cocked his head, thrusting his hand out, magically calling the ancient blade to him, as he'd done with the flaming arrow before. Jon couldn't help it, and neither could those around the combatants. They were awed.

The man in the robes gave a mirthful scoff. " _ **I see Castle Black's craftsmanship is impeccable**_." -he said, then twirled the blade around him, testing its weight and balance.

Thorne wasn't having it, though. "If you're done showing off your petty tricks, I have a lesson to teach to these worthless cunts." -he said, annoyed.

Kylo Ren, who was examining the dull blade, finally faced his opponent. " _ **I wasn't aware I was duelling a teacher. Perhaps I shall teach a lesson of my own.**_ " -he said, then lunged at Ser Alliser like a wolf dives onto a deer's neck.

The experienced fighter checked the lunge, answering with a horizontal swipe and an upwards swing. Kylo Ren caught the first, and deflected the second, using the momentum to turn and bring the longsword down on Thorne, who barely caught it. Ren pushed him away, showing considerable strength. Then he launched a series of wide sweeps, a few of which Ser Alliser checked, and the others he dodged. Kylo Ren walked forth, towards the aging Knight.

" _ **Lesson number one: fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hatred. And hatred brings suffering, through which you will gain power.**_ " -he said, and Jon knew it was aimed at him.

Alliser didn't know, so he just frowned in confusion, sweat collecting at the top of his brow. "What in seven Hells are you blathering on about?"

" _ **Nothing your lesser mind could understand**_." -the man answered condescendingly.

Thorne raged, stabbing at the robed figure, then throwing a punch. Kylo Ren avoided the stab, and caught the punch in his left hand. He then smacked Thorne with the flat of his blade, causing a small cut to appear on his cheek.

" _ **Lesson two: rage and hatred will make you powerful, but without discipline, they will only serve to blind and consume you.**_ "

The Knight then tried hacking repeatedly, which Ren blocked. Thorne launched several horizontal swipes, even turning around to try and surprised the hooded man, but Kylo Ren was an impregnable wall. Finally, tiring, but still fueled by his anger and frustration, Thorne brought a mighty vertical strike upon Ren's horizontal block, trying to force a blade lock.

He did, for all of half a second. The rusted sword gave out, breaking in half. Ren dropped the useless weapon, and then the world turned...slow. Jon could see it; Alliser saw an opening, and tried to capitalize on it. He started swinging the sword diagonally, from the lower position it had ended up at following the broken lock. Kylo Ren seemed to already know what would happen, however, as he moved his hand, _slapping_ the sword away by hitting the flat of the blade with the back of his hand, and then thrusting his hand at the man, in what Jon recognized as the use of his magic.

Thorne flew several yards, dropping his sword. He landed in a heap, at Jon's feet. Ser Alliser struggled to clear his head and rise, but Kylo Ren was already advancing on him, grabbing at a cylinder attached to his hip. It looked _suspiciously_ like a hilt…

Lord Commander Mormont must've seen it, too, because his eyes widened, running off towards the armorer - unseen, as everyone else was looking at the foreigner advance upon Ser Alliser.

" _ **Final lesson, Jon Snow: release your anger, relish in your hatred, and revel in the power of the Dark Side!**_ " -he shouted, and then the unthinkable happened.

From the hilt he held, _fire_ bloomed, hissing and crackling as if angry at its very existence. It formed the rough shape of a blade, complete with a crossguard made from the same flame, sprouting from the sides of the hilt. Kylo Ren held it high above his head, and for the shortest moment, Jon could feel fear, and not his own. _Somehow_ , he could feel how afraid Ser Alliser had become in the face of certain death.

It did not come. Just as Ren was about to bring the lethal blade down to bisect the Knight, the Old Bear jumped into the makeshift arena, unsheathing Longclaw, which Jon had left in the man-at-arms' care before his excursion, and lunging at Kylo Ren.

The foreigner saw it coming, as Jon knew he would, and he turned to face the old man. Jon felt dread in his gut, as he predicted what would happen: the sword of fire would cut through the Valyrian steel, and subsequently, the Lord Commander.

And then it hit him, just as Kylo Ren's blade hit his own. _Valyrian steel, forged by magic and the fire of dragons_ …

The two magical swords made contact, and they _screamed_. Sparks flew from the point at which they tried to sever each other, emitting a blinding light. Hissing and crackling could be heard, as well as the angered growls of Kylo Ren, and the struggling groans of the Lord Commander.

"You've defeated Ser Alliser! You've _won_!" -Jon shouted frantically.

The silver mask turned to face him. Mormont capitalized on his distraction to push him away.

"The steward is right, Kylo Ren. Listen to him! Castle Black and the Night's Watch is yours to command!" -he angrily spat.

Kylo Ren looked at the Valyrian steel blade, then at his own. " _ **Perhaps you are correct...but victory must have a cost. And you have lost nothing.**_ "

Knowing what would happen, Jon shouted. " _NO!_ "

Once more, he thrust his hand out at the Lord Commander, and _pulled_. The Old Bear, armor, weight and all, flew at Kylo Ren, unable to move out of the path of the fire sword, which cleanly ran him through.

As Jeor Mormont blinked in astonishment, all Seven Hells broke loose.

Swords were swung, and blue fire was shot by the armored soldiers. Jon ran, taking advantage of his captors' distraction. He tackled Kylo Ren, who hadn't felt him coming. Snow grabbed his sword, and unleashed his rage and grief, trying more than any other time in his life to best this vile creature, and end his life.

Longclaw and the fire sword hissed at each other, roaring as they clashed. The young wolf struck repeatedly, making use of every technique he knew, and many he did not. Kylo Ren was driven back, checking the young man's attacks, but slowly being overpowered.

In the end, however, Kylo Ren had something that Jon Snow did not. The bastard saw an opening, and tried to stab at the robed man, but found himself paralyzed, and facing a towering murderer.

" _ **Good, Jon Snow. Good...but you still have much to learn.**_ _**Look around you. Your brothers have been defeated, your leader lies dead, and you are unable to act. You lack the training...I can give it to you, Jon Snow.**_ "

Jon looked around, tears falling from his stormy eyes. "You _monster_...why would I _ever_ listen to you!?"

The man closed the distance, until he was so close that Jon could make out the individual dents on his helm. " _ **You wish to kill me, do you not? Only by learning to wield your power as I do, will you be able to exact your revenge. Become my apprentice, Jon Snow, and I will give you your chance to destroy me.**_ "

The bastard son of Eddard Stark grit his teeth, and then lost consciousness as Kylo Ren's palm touched the side of his head.

* * *

 **Yup. This was fun to write, though I do admit I need to learn how to properly write sword duels. We'll return to Essos next chapter!**


	8. Chapter 7: This Is The First Order

**I've been a little (read, a lot) stuck with this story, partly because I acknowledge I'm terrible at writing action scenes. Also, because I wanted to get back to Kylo and Jon's little situation asap. Anyway, here's the much awaited next chapter!**

* * *

Keeping prisoners was not usually a practice the First Order indulged on, especially on such a scale. And it showed.

After the entire week spent on cleanup duty, Phasma's forces had been organized to establish a defensive perimeter, a garrison, and corrals to keep the survivors of the sacking from roaming freely. Phasma had zero qualms about using them as human shields, though she doubted the savages would care about running them through with their odd curved swords on their way to revenge, anyway. Well, perhaps not all of them.

While her men had grudgingly set themselves upon their duties, she had spent the time informing herself about the culture and land she was to subjugate. The 'city' she had chosen for a foothold was called Vaes Dothrak, the capital - and only real city - of the nomadic tribes of barbarians that roamed the vast expanses of grassland. They called themselves Dothraki, and were known by others as the Horselords, due to their almost divine adoration and reverence of the muscular beasts they used for burden and transport. These 'horses' seemed relatively intelligent, and had all tried fleeing the First Order's grasp.

Phasma hadn't let them. She'd ordered them shot, and used for food and shelter, grudgingly prepared by the prisoners themselves.

The real advantage she had was knowing the purpose of the shriveled old ladies she had captured. _Dosh khaleen_ , they called them, and they were the closest thing to a ruling body the brutes had. Every _Khal_ \- the rulers of each _khalasar_ , as they called their tribes - no matter how violent or rebellious, was forbidden from disagreeing with the wise old women, who'd once been _khaleesi_ , wives to the many _Khals_. They allowed no violence within the boundaries of Vaes Dothrak, and so there were no weapons inside the city. Phasma wondered if the wise women had suspended that rule during their attack, because her troops had _definitely_ been subject to arrows and swords when they took the place. The primitive weapons had been quite useless against the thick betaplast armor, but the thermal bodysuit beneath had proven somewhat vulnerable to such piercing and slashing attacks, something she'd had to take into account. One of her soldiers had lost an arm, while two others had been pierced by arrows at their leg joints.

She'd spent practically the entire week drilling them in defensive tactics against these beasts, but it had been worth it. The First Order had adapted already.

Her base was tactically sound, but the fact remained that she was deep in hostile territory, and that she could count on hundreds of thousands of Dothraki coming soon to avenge their fallen home. Phasma fully believed they would be able to hold them off, but casualties seemed inevitable. And, while she felt no remorse spending her soldiers' lives, she felt the need to do so wisely, with her vastly inferior numbers. Knowing what she now did of Dothraki…'culture', she'd formulated a plan.

It took three days for her to have a chance to put it in action.

The plume of smoke heralding the Dothraki charge was visible even as she knew from TIE fighter reconnaissance flights they were still hours away. She could not help but be impressed; disgusting slavers, rapists, and brutes though they were, her time observing them had shown her they were fearless and handy in combat, even if they relied on numbers and scare tactics far too much for her taste. They were remarkable mounted marksmen, and rose through the ranks of their tribe, their _khalasar_ , through success in combat, evidenced in their slick, oiled braided top knots. Many prisoners had cut them off in shame after their defeat.

All of this she'd discovered with the help of a former slave she'd liberated, hailing from one of the cities closer to Westeros. She spoke the now familiar ancient variant of Basic and Dothraki fluently, and had helped in adapting a standard issue protocol droid to understand the ugly tongue of the Horselords. The young woman was called Jaqui, and hailed from a trading city called Braavos. She was black haired, brown eyed and criminally malnourished, and while she feared the droid at first, her hatred for the Dothraki had convinced her to help the First Order's cause. The Metal Men, as they'd started to call Stormtroopers, did not burn, pillage, and rape. That alone made them infinitely preferable in the slaves' eyes. Even if they weren't actually covered in metal.

Repressed sexual drives were, once more, proven a wise measure, in Phasma's eyes.

The Dothraki horde was visible now, in the distance. Phasma held her custom blaster calmly, and started giving orders.

"Artillery, fire on quadrant C6. Three rounds."

The First Order, eager to follow the Empire's footsteps, had taken their concepts on military forces and improved upon them. The old SPMA-Ts the Imperials employed were effective, but hardly efficient. They were large, and bulky, which made them slow and vulnerable. The First Order had revisited the old Republic artillery systems and applied that concept to the Imperial ones, so now they moved via repulsor drives, were significantly less vulnerable to small arms fire, and still carried the awesome firepower that made the SPMA-T systems something to be feared.

Green globs of plasma shot out into the sky at an arc, reached a summit point, and fell back down to earth like meteors. The unstable and highly energetic plasma lost cohesion upon impact, and dispelled over a wide area, vaporizing hundreds of tightly packed Dothraki for each shot. Their charge lost form, with many riders losing control of their terrified horses, but the great majority kept coming, closing the distance to the reinforced walls of the base. Confirming the artillery's effect, she relayed her next orders. "Fire control, target quadrants C2 through C10, and fire at will."

Then she turned to her second-in-command, a Sergeant with the ID FN-3130. "Have the marksmen fire when ready. Send a hundred Flametroopers and twice that many Riot Control units to the main gate. Once the gate is breached, the battle is yours to command."

She nodded, and jogged away. Phasma checked her rifle once more, and walked towards the main gate. The fast-dried duracrete walls would likely hold for some time, but she did not trust the durasteel gate as much as other commanders might. She knew a metal armor's limits better than most (even if hers was starship-grade chromium, and thus much more durable), and so she knew they'd have to defend the entrance themselves. Plus, she wanted to spot their leader, the _Khal_ that would surely be amongst the vanguard.

Green and red rifle bolts poured outwards, annihilating dozens of Screamers every second, the less experienced riders losing control of their rides and tripping, causing mass chaos that only the more experienced fighters knew how to avoid.

Phasma had the gates closed behind them, with orders not to open unless she called for it. The riot troops formed a loose line, while the flamethrowers poked out between the shielded soldiers. The soil trembled with the blasts of artillery, and the thousands of hooved beasts converging on their location. The chromium plated trooper knelt, thumbing off the safety on her customized (and also chromium plated) BlasTech rifle, coolly observing the frontline troopers' performance, ever the perfectionist.

With the riders only a fifty feet from the line, and quickly closing, the Flametroopers let loose their inferno.

Plumes of tightly packed plasma streamed out, creating a veritable wall of fire right were the riders were charging, many of them being half incinerated on the spot, others catching fire soon enough. The line of horses behind them panicked at the sight of fire directed at them, even the most hardened of them stopping their charge dead.

With the tip of the lance broken - an appropriate analogy, given the enemy's technological level - Phasma took her part in the carnage. Three round bursts of superheated plasma packets flew from her rifle with deadly accuracy. She prioritized those riders with the longest braids, as she knew they were the most experienced in combat, but otherwise reveled in the bloodshed, something she'd not gotten to do in years.

That's not to say their defense was wholly impenetrable, however. While the meager force of three hundred specialized Stormtroopers was so far proving enough to halt the Screamers' charge, some of the Dothraki had gotten lucky. As commander of the division, she had a vitals readout on her HUD, and some of her front line soldiers began to fall. A lucky swipe across their neck, a wayward horse that'd crushed a riot trooper, a particularly accurate arrow that had shattered the visor of another soldier. The losses, while minimal, were nonetheless a dent on her strategic potential.

As the defense thinned, Phasma initiated phase 2 of her plan. "Troopers, back to the gate!" -she shouted.

Her soldiers acknowledged the order, slowly retreating. Phasma took her place at the front of the line. Cranking her external speakers up to full volume, she shouted the phrase she'd practiced for the last few days.

" _Zalat tat nakho anna!? Yer laz kis, vo haj hrazef akkelenak. Dothralat tat anna, Khal. Kis tat nakho jin chiori!_ "

Roughly translated, the taunt meant: ' _You want to end me? You can try, weak horselord. Ride to me, Khal. Try to end this woman!'_

The closest riders halted in their charge, even as the Stormtroopers continued to slaughter their kind. For effect, she shouted again, this time taking over the base's loudspeakers as well as the Stormtrooper's.

" _ **Dothralat tat anna, vo haj Khal! Kis tat nakho jin chiori!**_ "

Slowly, but surely, and with several repeats of her taunts, the Dothraki horde stopped, as did the First Order's fire. A giant of a man, braid as long as an old electrostaff, rode towards her, flashing one of those deadly curved swords.

" _Yer hash jin chiori? Rek vos tikh. Yer nakho ei mahrazhi._ " -he cruelly shouted back.

Relaying the phrase to her protocol droid, who translated it to ' _You are a woman? That cannot be. You end all men.'_ she replied, asking the man who he was. " _Fin hash yer?_ "

The brute pounded his bare chest. " _Anha zin Khal Jhaqo. Fin hash yer haj chiori?_ "

The Khal had asked for her identity, of the so-called ' _strong woman_ '. If Phasma was flattered by the grudging compliment of the Khal, she did not show it. " _Anha zin Phasma, arrekoon jin shieraki_." -she said, gesturing to the sky revealing her status as an off-worlder, the woman from the stars.

The Khal scoffed. " _Zalath nakho ki dothraki, shieraki chiori?_ " -he asked, in disbelief, if Phasma planned to end the Dothraki.

Phasma shook her head. " _Vo. Anha zala yeri akkelenak, Khal Jhaqo_."

The Captain didn't of course, want to destroy every dothraki. She wanted to hold dominion over them. And for that, she needed the Khal's authority, his position at the head of the _khalasar._

A few moments of disbelieving silence occurred, after which the Khal cackled madly. His _khalasar_ joined in the jeering swiftly, even as they stood upon the corpses of their slain brethren.

Phasma wasn't fazed. She merely asked her second in command to bring her her trump card, at the top of the base's walls.

The cruel laughter stopped very fast. The Khal's expression contorted into a painful-looking scowl of fear and hatred. " _Dosh khaleen_." -he hissed.

Phasma nodded. " _Jif anha nakho dosh khaleen, che jif anha nakho Khal Jhaqo?_ " -she said, giving him a choice. Him, or the wise women.

Of course, it wasn't much of a choice. There was nothing the dothraki respected on this planet more than the shrivelled old ladies. To cause their death would be a far more sacrilegious offense for the Khal, than risking death at Phasma's hands.

The First Order Captain unclipped her cape from her shoulders, and tossed the blaster rifle aside, grabbing a fallen stun baton instead. " _Anha nakho yer ha yeri akkelenak, yer nakho anna ha jin zhokwa hrazef anha dothralat akka eshni tat dothralat tat shieraki._ " -she proposed.

It was a gamble, she knew. A fight to the death, between the Khal and her, for the right to lead the _khalasar_. On the one hand, it was an unheard of idea, that a woman - worse, a foreigner, and an off-worlder at that - would lead the Dothraki horde. On the other, the woman from the stars held the _dosh khaleen_ at gunpoint - not that they'd know what a gun was, of course. If she died, she promised that her troops would leave on their 'big horse'. It was a bluff, of course. Should Phasma perish, her Stormtroopers would simply finish the job, with her second-in-command calling the shots instead.

The Khal seemed to struggle with his thoughts, turning back to his _ko_ , his bloodriders, and the rest of his _khalasar_. Phasma was good at reading body language, and she knew the Dothraki expected their leader to accept.

Khal Jhaqo roared in frustration, brandishing his _arakh_ around him. "I end you, star woman!" -he shouted, in clearly broken Basic.

Phasma whipped her scavenged baton around, but didn't thumb the stun functionality on just yet. The massive man charged, twirling the curved sword in an overhead arc. Phasma blocked the attack easily, but pushing him off her was not such a simple task. The man was a mountain of chiseled muscle, and even her greater than standard-issue enhancements had a hard time coping with the Khal's strength. Phasma knew better than to match him in force, however, so she let momentum and gravity do her work for her, sidestepping and removing the baton. Jhaqo fell forward, but quickly recovered, delivering a couple of deadly diagonal slashes that Phasma evaded.

The Khal's bloodriders were jeering, now, inciting the warriors beside them. The remaining Stormtroopers, in turn, started banging their riot shields and stun batons together, voiceless, yet unwavering in their support of their Captain.

In any other situation, this breach of discipline would've angered Phasma, but she felt bolstered, instead. She jumped, and brought the extended baton down on the Khal, who caught the strike. Taking advantage of their lock, Phasma kneed him in the groin, causing the man to grunt in pain. She dislodged the baton, then delivered a couple of up-down swings, which the Khal managed to deflect.

Jhaqo roared, turning in place, hoping to surprise Phasma, but she knew that kind of move. It was drilled into every Stormtrooper's mind, how to defeat a sword-wielding opponent. The First Order's soldiers were far better Jedi hunters than the Empire's had ever been. Phasma angled the baton's extended prongs and caught the _arakh_ between them - the cortosis alloy that formed the metallic body of the weapon was made to resist lightsabers, so a simple steel sword did not even scratch the baton. Twisting her weapon with all of her might, she took the blade from the Khal's hands, and tossed it aside.

Surprised, Jhaqo tried to slap her aside. The chromium helmet took the hit like it was nothing but a strong wind, causing the man's bones to snap. Phasma, in retaliation, punched the man square in the jaw, breaking it. Then, thumbing the electric shock online, at full power, she twirled in place, mimicking Jhaqo's earlier attack, and jabbed at his solar plexus.

The heavy man all but flew backwards, straight into one of his bloodriders. Those Dothraki that could see the spectacle cowered before the seemingly supernatural strike. The _ko_ tried to wake the man up, but Phasma knew better. While the baton was typically a non-lethal weapon, a hit at full power against a man with literally no protection...her HUD didn't lie. Khal Jhaqo was dead.

Phasma grabbed her blaster rifle, as the realization dawned on the bloodriders that their Khal had perished. They had grim expressions on, and she knew why - a _ko_ 's life depended on the Khal's; if he were to die, the bloodriders had to die, as well. They only lived long enough to try and avenge their fallen lord.

The three Dothraki charged her, but they did not get far. Phasma didn't even have to lift her weapon, as three green blaster bolts sailed over her head and found purchase on their flesh, carbonizing it, and killing all but one instantly.

Captain Phasma grabbed her soiled cape and put it on her shoulder, then taking her helmet off, so the Dothraki would truly know that a woman had defeated one of their greatest warriors. Asking the protocol droid to translate for her on the fly, tired of speaking that horrid language, Phasma shouted.

"You have a choice, horselords. Perish at my command, or join me in glory. Decide quickly - the First Order has no time for standing around."

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I don't actually know any Dothraki. I used an online translator, and I'm sure it's nowhere near fully accurate. It's just mean to inject a little 'realism' to the exchange between Phasma and the late Khal. It was fun to write, but I'm not doing it again, I'm afraid. Too much work.**

 **Did you like the chapter? Tell me all about it! Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 8: An Ominous Path

**Bet you thought this one was dead, huh?**

* * *

Gathered around the _Finalizer_ 's main holotank, the leaders of the First Order conferred with Captain Phasma, who was delivering her after-action report on the eastern front.

"T _he Dothraki capital city of Vaes Dothrak has been taken, their weapons confiscated, their spirits broken, and their dead burned. Our meager losses number in the double digits. The natives are effectively under our command, Lord Ren._ "

The hooded darksider hummed. "Your victory is commendable, Captain. What of any possible opposition, from the city-states of Essos?"

" _They are all slavers, hiding behind stone walls and scores of well-paid mercenaries. Had we any valid currency, we'd be able to simply purchase their loyalty away._ "

"Your Dothraki possess no riches?"

Phasma would've snorted, were she any less professional. " _The Horselords are more accustomed to taking what they need. They have little use for precious metals, and what little legitimate trading they do involves no currency._ "

General Hux sneered. " _Horselords_. Have you taken a liking to the barbarians, Phasma?"

" _I respect them as I would any other enemy, General. It would be foolish to belittle them._ "

The General conceded the point, grudgingly. "True enough. At the very least, their numbers shall provide an effective buffer for our forces, should you be engaged."

"Indeed. Captain, I want you to take what possessions the Dothraki have and go to the nearest city to sell them. The profit will likely be negligible, but if we are to make an impression on the rest of Essos, I believe we'll have to appear as if we intend to stay. This will also give you the opportunity to assess the city's weaknesses."

She checked Essos' map, then nodded. " _Understood. I shall depart for Qarth within the day._ "

The hologram dissipated, leaving Hux and Kylo to themselves. "I assume you'll go back to your pet project, Ren?" -Hux asked, sneering.

"Jon Snow is far more valuable to us than even a Dothraki horde." -Kylo Ren replied.

"Indeed? The boy is a bastard, with little power in these lands."

"Your knowledge of his status tells me you've studied this world's society."

Hux preened a little. "Extensively, yes."

"Then the name Stark means something to you."

Hux nodded. "Indeed. One of the greater families of Westeros. Currently at war with most of the Southerners."

"The members of House Stark are known for their zealous approach to honor. The King of Westeros murdered their patriarch, Lord Eddard, only recently. The late Lord Stark was Jon Snow's father."

The General crossed his arms. "He's a bargaining chip, then. You intend to contact the Northerners?"

"Snow is far more than a simple bargaining chip. The Force is strong with him." -Ren declared, sending a very unwanted chill through Hux's spine. "But yes, that is part of my plan."

"Care to share?"

Ren hummed. "I intend to secure an alliance with House Stark, supporting their bid for the King's head. Meanwhile, you'll travel to the capital, and represent the First Order before the royal family."

Hux frowned. "You're playing both sides."

"No. I fully intend to assist the Northerners in dethroning the Boy King. Your visit is meant to allow for Anaxi Ren to infiltrate the royal fortress."

The young redhead paled; Anaxi Ren was infamous amongst the Knights of Ren - typically frontline warriors who rarely shied away from open warfare - due to her penchant for stealth. She was also one of the only three non-humans serving the First Order. "Will she eliminate the King?"

Kylo Ren shrugged. "Perhaps. If he can serve us no purpose, I'll order his assassination."

* * *

Star Destroyers were usually a bustling hive of never ending activity, necessary for maintaining a space-faring vessel the size of a small city. With a sizable part of the _Finalizer's_ crew and standing forces away on another continent, and the rest working on fortifying the First Order's newly gained territory in Westeros, however, the _Resurgent_ -class Star Destroyer's hallways were all but empty. Kylo Ren did not, for once, feel like he was striding through a fog of thinly veiled fear.

The leader of the Knights of Ren was not well liked within the First Order. Many thought him too brash, a dangerous individual more likely to be a liability than an asset to the cause. Kylo Ren was not so foolish as to deny that he had been, at least at first. Fresh from destroying Skywalker's Jedi Order, he'd been filled with naught but hatred and rage. Many loyal soldiers had fallen to his blade in those early days.

He'd worked hard to prove himself, but not for the benefit of popularity. He needed only the vindication from his Master. And thus, he needed to get to work.

Jon Snow was being held in Ren's own barebones quarters. He had been left unshackled, and armed with the perplexing, lightsaber-proof sword the old man had tried to stop him with. Kylo Ren entered the room with his hand held in front of him, tossing his rather obvious would-be ambusher aside.

The bastard landed in a heap, but quickly rose. Bored, Ren forced him into stasis again. The blade he held fell to the floor with a metallic clatter.

"It is increasingly clear to me that you are unaware of the concept of subtlety." -Ren noted, amused, as he pulled the fallen sword to his hand.

"I have no interest in your words. Release me, and fight me like a man!"

"What you _have_ is little choice, Jon Snow." -he said, sneering under his mask. "What is this sword made from?"

Snow winced. "Aren't you supposed to know everything?" -he taunted.

Ren pulled back his hood. "No. I have a galaxy's worth of knowledge at my disposal, but no one being knows everything." -he mused. Not even Supreme Leader could claim to be all-knowing, though he was certainly close. "I know, for example, that beneath your thinly veiled hatred and disgust, you are curious. Of what we are, and where we come from."

" _Liar!_ "

"Am I? Search your feelings, Westerosi. You cannot resist the need to _know_. You never could, could you? Asking everyone who would listen, the exact same questions you wish me to answer, deep down, about the First Order."

Ren released Snow's stasis, and levitated the sword back to him. Jon took it, pale. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" -Kylo asked, turning his back to him. "I can help you discover this."

He waited. A moment turned to seconds, and those to minutes. "How?"

Ren resisted the urge to smirk. He could feel Snow's anger, hatred...but also his fear and desperation. In a way, he envied Jon; reaching the Dark Side would be far easier for the bastard than himself. He turned to find Snow crying, a death grip on the strange sword. "There is _power_ in all living things, Jon. The will to live, the urge to survive, the strength to fight, beyond what flesh, and bone, and _thought_ could _ever_ achieve alone. That power is called the _Force_. It surrounds us, penetrates us...and _you_ , Jon Snow, are one of the precious few in existence who are _strong_ enough with it to _command_ it."

Snow looked at his gloved hands, confused. "How?" -he asked.

"A question for a question, Snow." -he warned. "To be Force-sensitive is to be chosen by the Force itself. Few have a true purpose in life, meandering through life and fulfilling what small roles they can. But _us_ , instruments of the Force, masters of its power, have a destiny to fulfill. Heed my training, and you _will_ find your own."

* * *

 **I'd like to think I gave a really good definition for the Force as someone like Kylo Ren might view it. A bit of Jedi wisdom, a bit of Sith arrogance.**


End file.
